by Ann Christy
When I told Marcy that, she turned her head slowly toward me and said, “That’s good. It’s for the best.”
I don’t understand what she meant. What’s best? Best I go sit with Linda so Fred can sleep? Best it’s me that does it? What? It’s probably something like that, but the way she said it was so very resigned. It tickled my internal alarms. Even so, she ate her dinner without much in the way of prompting and even carried her plate to the kitchen. That’s the most voluntary movement she’s done for the whole day, except going to the toilet.
Before heading over to Fred’s, I made sure she was set for the night in the guest room. It’s silly, since she’s been here more than one night, but something was off. I felt like I had to make sure. Did I look at everything in the room a little more closely? Yes. Did I discover what’s been pricking at my nerves? No.
She said goodnight and thank you, which was weird, then told me to be careful. She seemed more awake to me, so maybe the shock is wearing off. I hope so. We need her.
As it stands now, Linda is down hard, with Fred out of action while caring for her. Gerald and Susan are both injured, and since it’s their hands that carry most of their wounds, they aren’t much use in the weapons department. Paul, Martin, and I are all that’s left to carry the load in terms of watches and general work. We need every single body that’s capable of working. Even help with the vegetable planting in our yards would be welcome beyond words. Digging up all that well-rooted grass isn’t easy. It’s actually pretty backbreaking work and my legs are zero help in that department.
Carefully watching for any movement outside before leaving, I ran as silently as I could for Fred’s. It was quiet in our neighborhood, for which I’m grateful. Small mercies and all that.
Actually, it might not be mercy as much as stench. We can’t bury all those monsters, so we’ve been dragging them off and leaving them near our pile of cars and assorted junk. Lately, we haven’t been able to do even that much, and the field is awash in rotting bodies. I noticed last night when a monster came out of the woods and into the field that it jumped back a little. Crouching and sniffing the air, it did a weird crab-walk away from the piles, almost picking its way around the bodies in a complex path.
I think they want to eat the freshly dead or living bodies, but they fear the rotting ones. Or maybe they fear the dead that are like them. I’m not sure which of these ideas is true, if either, but it sure seems that way from my perspective. If that’s the case, we might be able to use that information. I spoke to Martin about it. He grabbed onto that data point and I swear I could hear the wheels turning in his head. He said he would research similar situations in the animal kingdom or in human history, assuming he could find anything on his drives. He has years’ worth of innumerable science journals, so he just might have something in his archives.
For tonight, it’s quiet and the air is a bit smelly. There’s not much wind, so the scents linger close to the ground, like a fog made of stink. I really do think that’s why we’re clear of monsters right now. Fred was waiting for me when I got to his house, the door opening even as my foot hit the first step. Ushering me inside, I didn’t get a good look at him until we passed into the living room proper. The curtains were sealed tight, a single lamp casting a soft light into the room.
That soft glow wasn’t enough to hide the strain etched onto Fred’s face. His features were tight, his mouth drawn down in a line, his eyes haunted and pained.
Whispering almost too low for me to hear, he leaned close and said, “She’s not doing well, not getting better. I’m afraid.”
The way he said it, the way he emphasized the words and the fear in his eyes, said more than the scant words themselves. I know what he’s afraid of because we’re all afraid of it. He’s not just afraid that she’ll die. He’s afraid that she’ll come back.
He took me a little off-guard when he said that so abruptly, so I don’t think I reacted as well as I would have if given more warning. Looking back, I feel like my response was incredibly lame. What I did was reach out and hug him, which surprised him a little. I patted his back and said, “We’ll all do everything we can. She’s strong and no one is giving up.”
Doesn’t that sound lame? I think it does. Of course, she’s not giving up, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s filled with infection from a nasty one-time-human’s mouth who had probably been noshing on other humans. Seriously. If it was about willpower, she wouldn’t be like she is.
As useless as it sounds in retrospect, Fred had hugged me back rather tightly. I think he wanted to cry, but he’s a man raised in the old school where men don’t cry even when they should feel free to do exactly that. Letting me go, he told me he’d be in their guest room trying to get a few hours of shut eye, and that I shouldn’t feel shy about waking him for any reason.
He knows I’m reliable, so I hope he’ll be able to drop off. I showed him my bag of things to keep me busy and made sure to tell him I could really use a few hours sitting in one spot. I hope it eased any sense of guilt he might have.
When I went into the room where Linda lies in bed, I did my very best to hide the shock. She’s as pale as milk, but her cheeks have an angry red flush. Her leg is swollen, and I think her face might be a little puffy too. All of that was shocking enough, but what really got me was the smell. Sour and sweet at the same time, it’s a combination of rot and sweat and fevered flesh.
A glance at Fred told me he didn’t smell it, probably because he’s been cooped up inside with it all day. I urged him out of the room gently, telling him I planned on bathing her a little. He left, but the creases between his brows were no less deep.
I found a basin, then boiled some of their water. I didn’t dare use un-boiled water anywhere on her in her condition, so I had to wait for it to cool in the fridge. Once it was nice and cool, I managed to get Linda out of her clothing and washed. It’s embarrassing to do that, but she was barely conscious and could do little for herself. I got her into clean undies and a short nightdress that wouldn’t touch her leg. Another hydrocodone from our dwindling stash eased the pain a little and soon, she drifted into an uneasy sleep.
Watching her is hard, so that’s why I’m writing my journal entry now rather than after I return home. I brought a book to read, but I can’t settle on anything. I need to keep half my mind on her. The one thing I can’t afford is to dive deeply into some imaginary world and miss something vital.
I haven’t heard a peep out of Fred, so I think he must have fallen asleep. I hope so. I don’t know if he’s slept a wink since the bite. I came prepared to spend the night, though I didn’t share that with Fred. As long as he can sleep, I’ll let him. I’m fortunate that I can sleep despite discomfort. It’s a dubious gift I received after I lost my legs. I was never comfortable. This chair by the bed is nice enough and I’m close enough that I’ll hear her stir. I sleep lightly.
I just yawned, so I think I’m ready to drift off a bit myself. So much for keeping my mind entirely on Linda, though in truth, I think she’s finally in a true sleep too. Her breaths are easy and full, like deep sleepers do. I’d best not waste any hour of rest I can get.
Day 26 - Afternoon
I wish I wouldn’t have fallen asleep. I wish I would have woken Fred and gone home. I wish. I wish. Wishes don’t come true anymore though, if they ever did.
Fred got his sleep, waking me just as the pre-dawn twilight began to hint at the coming day. I would have woken up soon enough on my own, despite the tightly closed curtains. My body knows the day/night cycle and dawn is my signal to rise. When Fred woke me, he looked better, at least he did until we turned on a brighter lamp and he saw Linda. Even those few, scant hours away from her made the sight fresh to him again.
She’s no worse, but she’s no better either. I have a feeling that if she doesn’t turn a corner soon, she’ll go the other direction. I couldn’t bear to say that to Fred.
He offered me coffee, but I’d been gone all night and I wanted t
o check on Marcy. After all, she came to my house because she can no longer bear being alone, and she’s been without me. There was one lonely monster in the field, but it seemed confused, jerking as it lurched about. Fred watched my back as I ran toward my house.
When I went in, I knew something was wrong. I don’t know how to explain it except to say that the house felt lifeless, empty. I’m not sure how I could tell, or what the difference is between a house with someone in it and one without people, but I could tell as soon as I closed the door.
Gone are the days when we can shout that we’re home, but I called, “Marcy?” There was no answer. I figured she must have gone to her house for something, or perhaps went to one of the other houses for company, but I looked for her anyway.
Her room was empty, as was mine. So was the office and the big room above the garage. I even checked the bathrooms. No Marcy. I figured I would go and get her from wherever she went later, when the morning got bright enough to do such a thing safely. I half expected someone to bring her back to me.
Even so, I did check the windows, carefully examining the area around the house just in case she decided to wander off. There was no evidence of her anywhere.
Given the situation with Gerald and Susan, neither of them can cook at the moment, not with their injured hands. Gerald can’t even make a fist without opening the bite on the side of his hand. Paul and Martin were supposed to go over and cook up something for them to last the day. I kept myself occupied with sharpening my machete near the front window and waited for them to pass. Sure enough, they walked down the road right on time, and I went out to meet them.
They hadn’t seen Marcy. When they came back, they let me know she wasn’t at Gerald’s. I may have been concerned before, but now I was flat worried. Both of them came with me to check Marcy’s house, but it was empty too, with no evidence of her return.
They both very kindly came back to my house, either hoping to see that I missed her somewhere inside or help me figure out where she went. I felt certain I hadn’t missed her, but waved them on when they asked permission to search.
It was Paul who found her. I hadn’t checked the garage. Why would I? It’s not like we’re using our cars and it’s boiling hot in the garage. We keep the door closed so the limited air conditioning we allow ourselves doesn’t leak out. I hadn’t checked it. She’d used the rail of my wheelchair lift to hold the rope. Afterward, we found the clothing rail in the guest room closet broken, so I guess she tried there first. She didn’t awaken again. That’s one small mercy, I suppose.
We buried her next to Doris, not bothering to even tell the others. We can tell them the news later. The last thing Fred needs is to see more proof of death. Plus, I just wanted to get her into the ground. Does that sound cruel? I hope not. It’s not that I wished her dead, but more that the deed is done, and I want her to be unbothered. She doesn’t need to be gawked at. She doesn’t need to suffer comment. It should simply be over. She wanted it over.
While I haven’t really thought about it much, now that this has happened, I realize this same scenario must have played out in innumerable homes in innumerable ways. Some people simply cannot bear to live through so much death. Some people cannot bear to survive.
It’s my turn to go and check on Gerald and Susan, so I’m in for a busy evening once again. We’re talking about consolidating homes further, perhaps occupying only two homes near each other. It will be a difficult choice, but I suppose it has to be done. I don’t mind confessing that I hope my home is chosen.
Day 26 - Night
Susan’s finger is gone. Martin did the deed because I couldn’t bear it. The bone was broken all the way through. Since it was more of a crushing injury versus a clean break, there was nothing firm to guide a decent knitting of the two pieces. She said it didn’t hurt much to lose it, but what I think is that it hurt less than the two bones constantly shifting. Pain is relative.
Martin buried the finger in the grave where we put Marcy, digging down a foot or so, but no more. That seemed sufficient for a finger, I guess.
She did put some mirth into it during our meeting, holding up her bandaged hand and commenting on how difficult it would be to flip anyone off anymore. That did get a smile or two from the others, but I found it hard to look at. It’s too close to my situation. Of course, she was also still flying high from the double dose of hydrocodone she took before her finger was snipped off.
The decision to consolidate homes is tentatively made. The two houses best equipped, as well as best situated for keeping watch, are mine and Fred’s. While Paul and Martin are closest to the service road, which needs watching, we’re planning on dragging some of the nasty bodies into that area to deter more monsters. We’ve all agreed that it seems the monsters try to avoid any body that’s well into the decay process. Moving some over there might give us some protection.
As for the other occupied house, Gerald and Susan’s house isn’t good for watch given its location, but it does have a well and solar, so we’ll more than likely use it now and then for whatever is needed. Or maybe that’s where people will go when they need some alone time.
All that’s left is to decide who goes where. I think Paul and Martin might choose my house, because it’s the smaller of the two. Two couples plus two big dogs should probably be put into the larger house, and Fred’s house is significantly larger than mine. With Linda still bad off, we’ll likely wait a little while before doing any real moving. I’m actually a little relieved by the decisions. That little dog, Buster, is a good watchdog. I think I’ll sleep better with his barky self in the house.
It seems odd that we’ve gone right back to work. Our schedule has been juggled, but it’s still in place. Marcy has been buried for a mere handful of hours, but it’s like she’s been gone for days or weeks. I wonder if it’s going to be that way for everyone now. Have we lost the luxury of grief? Or maybe it’s only that all the grief we’re dealing with has maxed out our systems and there’s no room for more.
I don’t know what the cause is, but I can see the result. I washed my dishes, tidied the guest room, and did chores. All very normal. I even tried to figure out how to put the rail in my closet back where it belongs.
It’s quiet tonight again, the wind weak as the truly hot part of summer begins. The air outside is sticky and still, utterly miserable. I’m so happy for solar power, though it’s not really a good match for the kind of air conditioning we need in this part of the world. The thermostat is set as high as I can tolerate, but I still worry. The household battery drains a little more each day and takes a little longer to fully charge the next. It will always charge, because the days are long, but I still worry.
I might need to start another round of economies in the house. I suppose I can turn off the ground fault circuits that go to the kitchen and bathrooms. Also, the circuits to the garage. It will reduce the load a touch.
Bed is calling to me, but I’m reluctant to go. Tomorrow is going to be a hard day. Martin did some research and found some scant information in his reference material on animal and human behavior around the dead. It seems there’s some evidence that animals will avoid their own dead at certain points or in certain concentrations. Humans almost always do.
He called it an evolutionary safeguard, one that’s built right into us. Avoiding death means avoiding the diseases that may have killed the dead person, or a danger potentially still present, or even dangerous scavengers. Many animals will do the same, but it’s not consistent. Given that bit of data, we think the monsters are accessing some primal part of our human past. They avoid decayed bodies or the bodies of their own kind.
Unfortunately for those of us here who remain able-bodied, that means we’re going to be hauling corpses tomorrow. The pile outside our barricade is a fetid, boiling mass of rot, but we’re going to grab what we can and place them at our approaches. We’ll leave some there, but we’ll spread them out a little more. It makes sense that we get so few monsters via the road. T
he pile is probably driving them away.
I just took another round of the windows and that confused monster is still stumbling around in our field. We all watched it earlier at Fred’s, trying to figure out why this monster is different. Paul suggested it’s blind or deaf…or maybe both. It doesn’t scream and is constantly tripping over itself. It seems to be trying to find its way via scent, always with a raised head and its nose up.
Another monster came out of the woods some distance from it earlier, but didn’t get far before it stopped. The new monster crouched and looked around once in the clear, seeming almost wary. It was like an animal, head jerking, arms straight, almost rigidly so, and ready to pounce. It ran for the stumbling monster, but stopped so suddenly that it fell backward. It sniffed, eyes roaming the tall grasses where all the bodies are, then sniffed in the other monster’s direction. Then, it did something we’ve not seen before. It ran back into the woods as if it sensed danger, even though nothing at all was threatening it.
I think there might be something we can use in that little scenario. We just need to figure out what’s wrong with that stumbler…and then figure out how to replicate it. The new monster seemed to be trying to get away from it, so maybe all monsters will do the same. It might work. Then again, maybe it won’t. We’ll find out.
Day 27 - Late Morning
I just got out of the bath, but I feel like I need to fill it again and soak for days. That was the most disgusting job I’ve ever done. Hands down, by far. Paul and Martin came to get me very early this morning, just after dawn had broken. That was smart, because doing that job in the heat of the day might have been impossible.